More Family Than You Know
by Alessiah
Summary: Peter, instead of being in a coma for the entire movie, joins Hank on his revenge quest to Genosha, where he's forced to face none other than his father, who may or may not already know the truth about the cheeky speedster.


_I have no explanation for the existence of this fic other than the fact that Dark Phoenix, while visually stunning, has left me deeply unsatisfied when it comes to Dadneto and Peter's screen time and I wanted, no, needed to change that._

* * *

The beeping of the med lab's machines was so aggravating that it actually kicked him out of the darkness that kept him company for the past who-the-fuck-knows-how-many hours-or-days. Letting out a low moan as his senses registered the pain radiating through every inch of his body, his eyes slowly, very uncharacteristically for him, opened and the bright light that welcomed his sight was too overwhelming and painful, making him shut his eyes close in a millisecond.

Instead of facing the brightness of the world of the living, he willed his other senses to tell him what his eyes right now couldn't see. He took another suspiciously painful deep breath and began running a mental diagnostic of his body, trying to find the source of pain and the reason why he's where he was. A small turn of his head was immediately registered as a tremendously bad decision as it caused the beast in his head to go on a wild rampage adding just one more pain in the sea of torment that currently encompassed his entire body.

It hurt to think.

His body was on fire, his head throbbed in time to his racing heart, and it felt as though an elephant was sitting on his chest, making the simple act of breathing a tedious chore.

What the actual fuck had happened to him?

Now, he wasn't a medical genius nor did he have expertise on injuries and other medical stuff, but he was pretty damn sure that heaviness in his chest and the difficulty with which he's breathing could, potentially, be caused by some trauma to his ribs.

He had never before hurt his ribs but fuck did this shit hurt.

A broken leg that he had suffered at the hands of an ancient mutant with an apocalyptic kink was nothing in comparison to this. It had been annoying, yes, especially the fact he had been forbidden and unable to run, had hurt like a bitch when it got snapped like a twig, but the pain had dissipated shortly after and got replaced by sweet numbness, which could have potentially been a bad sign but Peter had other worries during that time to mull over that.

But this?

He couldn't even pinpoint the source of pain. Scratch that, he couldn't even pinpoint which body part hurt the most.

He knew he had taken some damage to his ribcage and it was immediately apparent that his head took the brunt of whatever the fuck had befallen him, according to the beast that was trapped inside, ripping and tearing ruthlessly at his skull in a mad effort to escape. That, plus the fact he couldn't, for the life of everything, remember what the hell even happened to him. Peter was fully aware he was currently occupying and lying supine on one of the few med beds in Hank's lab, thanks to the incessant and extremely bothersome beeping of the machines and the nose wrinkling smell of disinfect in the air around him.

He knew something had happened to him, the problem was _what._ Unfortunately, his mind was refusing to cooperate at the moment and his thoughts were slow and sluggish.

He settled for not knowing what had happened to him – for now, but he realized that whatever had happened was bad, considering there was almost nothing and no one who could ever do him any harm. Thanks to his mutation, he was pretty much invincible and his ever-inflating ego loved that fact.

So, something major had to have occurred if he came out of it feeling like that, but the mental blank refused to give him the satisfaction to provide him with an answer.

He winced at another stab of pain in his head, but continued with his mental diagnostic of injuries, trying to ignore the icy fingers of fear waking up inside of him as he focused on the pain in his body once more. If his head and the chest area were in such a bad state, then he was not anticipating to discover what more was in store for him.

The moment he focused on his legs he feared the worst, but the fear dissipated as quickly as it appeared. His legs were throbbing fiercely, but if he had to guess they were merely badly bruised, suffering from sprained ankles at the very worst, with nothing broken.

Thank fucking God.

Having a cast on one of his legs and being forced to use crutches had been the most excruciating and irritating thing he had ever experienced in his life. Again, he was thankful for his mutation for gifting him the ability of accelerated healing, allowing him to suffer a cast for a mere three days instead of weeks.

Speaking of this gift of his, he hoped his healing factor would kick in with full force soon but given how utterly broken he felt he had a strong inkling it might take a little bit longer for him to feel better.

He moved his left hand to rub at his eyes and immediately regretted the decision. It felt achy and tight but by the telltale feeling of bandages and heaviness of the cast around it, Hank had already worked his medical magic on it. He didn't know whether his lower arm was broken or just really badly sprained, to the point Hank deemed cast a piece of necessary equipment on his road to recovery. All he cared about was that he really, really didn't want to move his arm.

Letting out a harsh breath, he relaxed back into the mattress, his right arm slipping back across his chest to fall loosely beside him. With nothing else to do, he decided to give his sight another try, hoping that by now his eyes had already readjusted to the realm of consciousness.

Bracing himself, he slowly opened his eyes, fighting the fog in his head and the blurriness of the world around him. His sight was fuzzy and his eyes refused to cooperate at first. He blinked his eyes hard, trying to chase the unwelcome haze away. With his eyes open the room dipped and swayed around him, but he willed himself to refrain from closing them again.

The irritating fog sluggishly began to dissipate and as it disappeared, more and more shapes began to form out of the thick mass of haze.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for his eyes to finally, finally readjust to the brightness of the world and he glanced around the room, his brow quickly furrowed as he assessed his current situation.

He immediately noticed the glaringly obvious fact that he was shirtless, the electrode patches, the thin duvet and the thick layer of bandages wrapped around his chest being the only thing covering his bare skin. Peter supposed the heart monitor was the source of the annoying beeping that helped him by waking him up but didn't help at all when it came to his headache.

Dropping his still somewhat sluggish gaze, his eyes travelled past the IV stuck in the crook of his arm, to the mass of bandages and cast on his lower left arm, and wrist area. So his assumption that his arm took some heavy damage was correct after all.

Thanks to the duvet, he wasn't able to see his legs but didn't miss the constricted feeling of bandages around his calves. Maybe a sprain or some fracture sustained to his lower legs, Peter couldn't be sure. His legs ached but it was nothing he couldn't bear.

The speedster's eyes travelled up again, only to pause on the bandaged form of his right shoulder. He sighed. Another injury to the list. Frankly, it was getting too long.

He didn't know the state his face was in, but he _felt_ it and the vain part of him was slightly concerned about the various stinging cuts and swells covering his cheeks and nose. He had a busted lip and the nasal cannula was honestly more irritating and uncomfortable rather than actually painful.

Nonetheless, Peter knew he was fully and properly fucked up.

However, there was one thing that, despite the circumstances, stood out to him.

He was alone.

Not that that was unexpected as he hadn't heard anyone mindlessly shuffling or just simply breathing in the room since waking up – and he could safely confirm, he had an absolutely amazing hearing, thank you very much.

But he was alone.

Alone, as in, his bed was the only one that seemed used or occupied in the last, who knows how many hours or days.

Meaning that whatever had happened, probably happened only to him.

Part of him was slightly annoyed with that fresh information, as he was sure he was gonna hear about it from others for the rest of his life. Him being the only one who got injured during a mission had never happened before and he knew Scott would rub it in because that's exactly what Peter himself would do.

That, plus the whole thing tremendously hurt his ego. For as long as he had his powers he had thought himself invincible, there was literally nothing, and no one (save for the blue asshole from Cairo) who managed to stop and maim him and he literally thrived off that fact.

Charles had told him, time and time again, _"Peter, think before you leap. Consider your options. You're the only one who literally has all the time in the world to do so._ _You can afford to pause for a second sometimes and think it through."_

Had he ever listened to him?

Ha, nope.

He was certain he was going to receive one hell of a lecture from Charles after the initial _'Oh, thank God you're fine.'_ moment passed.

However, the annoyance quickly passed as an all too familiar and uncomfortable feeling of concern slowly rose inside of him. While he was glad it seemed like he was the only one injured, he couldn't help but also worry about others.

The fact that they weren't here occupying one of the beds in the med lab like he was, meant nothing. For all he knew they could've been so grievously injured, Hank couldn't have done anything and they had had to be admitted to the nearest hospital with mutant expertise.

Or worse, they could be dead.

Either way, it was a tremendously bad scenario and one he sincerely hoped wasn't true.

Despite their many differences, both in terms of personality and viewpoint of the world, his team, the X-Men were extremely close. Through the years they'd learned to rely and depend on each other. As far as he knew, none of them were related by blood (although there were some suspicious things regarding Mystique and Kurt), but that had never mattered to him. All that mattered was that they were a family in the truest sense of the word. Seven separate parts, plus Charles, making up a whole.

Kurt was the agreed upon baby of the team. Peter honestly didn't think Kurt had a bad bone in his body. He was literally the kindest, sweetest person he had ever met and Peter promised to himself he would do anything to help Kurt preserve his positive view of the world and people around them. His positivity and innocence were truly remarkable. His bright personality and chronic happiness were infectious, affecting everyone around him and bringing light and cheer to them. He was as gentle as a lamb and Peter supposed that was the reason why everybody liked him so much.

He and Ororo had gotten on like a house on fire and she was his best friend since the day they had been brought together. The fact she had the same music taste as he, was into Pink Floyd, Queen, Nirvana,… was just another bonus. In their early days as a team, they were both considered the self-named pranksters extraordinaire of the team. No one had been safe from their antics, including Raven and Charles. But those days were long gone now, and much to the shock of everyone, it was Peter who grew out of his juvenile prankster period first.

Jean was the mom friend, always there for everyone and anyone who needed someone to talk to. The times he had spent spilling his frustrations over his own issues with family were numerous. He was just thankful he could vent to her without any judgement because for some reason, she was the only one who seemed to understand his lack of strength when it came to facing his father. Other than that, they were complete opposites; Jean, tormented by the fear of her powers and Peter, the one who cherished his mutation more than anything. Well, almost more than anything. Jean was calm, respectful, quiet whereas Peter, the wildcard, was always loudly buzzing around. And yet, for the reasons unknown to him, they understood each other perfectly.

Scott was the little brother he never had, but one that he had always wanted. Their friendship started off a little rocky, with Scott being slightly wary of him after learning who his father was, and the fact that Peter felt horrible for not being able to save Scott's brother in time was another issue. Thankfully, Scott had never blamed it for what happened to Alex that day, but that still didn't completely erase the guilt he felt inside of him. If he just hadn't stopped for that one Twinkie, perhaps Alex would have still been alive and kicking today. Unfortunately, he had been too late. He and Scott didn't always get along that well; their friendship was the epitome of a dynamic duo. However, despite his and Scott's differences, Peter knew that when it came right down to it, Scott had his back...would always have his back. He was his wingman, in more ways than just one.

Then there was Hank, the unquestionable brains of the team. He had lost count of the number of times Hank's ingenuity and medical knowledge had saved them from disaster, both figuratively and literally. He had this unquenchable thirst for knowledge and a drive to figure out anything and everything around him. But despite this, he never acted condescending or superior. In truth, he was one of the most kind and selfless individuals Peter had ever known.

Raven was another person he respected, to the point some might even say he had a crush on her. He didn't, but he admired her nonetheless. She was different…in a good way. When it came to Charles and Erik's arguments she never took a clear position in any dispute. In a way, she always tried to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. She was also badass and took zero shit from anyone, especially Charles. She was a survivor. She had always been one and knew what to do to save her and her team's skin and that was one of the main things he admired the most about her. That and the fact she understood his awkward, standing on two bridges at once, situation with the X-Men, aka Charles, and Magneto. That was pretty dope too. Sometimes he felt like a child caught in a bad divorce between his mom and dad. Except that, in his case, only mom and a few selected friends knew about his issue.

Charles was…well, Charles. Peter was fully aware he wasn't Charles' favorite X-Man despite the numerous times he had helped save them and everyone else from certain demise. And he was okay with that, their personalities just clashed too much and Peter, with his contumacious attitude, had the knack for disrespecting his orders and/or wishes. That, plus the annoying little detail that the telepath was unable to read his mind. That was an issue as well. Charles prided himself on being able to be in control of every situation, but Peter was a wildcard and just like Erik, he was too unpredictable at times for his own liking. So Charles kept an eye on him and sometimes he would catch the telepath looking at him from afar with an unreadable expression on his face. At such moments Peter wondered what was cooking in Professor's head and if perhaps, for some reason, Peter reminded Charles way too much of a certain old friend.

And then, there was him.

Sometimes he liked to imagine he had come of age and even his friends had on not so few occasions commented that he finally started acting his age. Years ago, Peter used to thrive off the adrenaline high of late-night runs and random semi risky missions. He used to be some kind of hot head of the family; impulsive, reckless, quick-tempered, sarcastic and sometimes downright mean. Some traits still lingered on to this day, but for the most part, he had grown up and he had a damn good reason for it.

On not so frequent occasions now, he still might pick on and complain about his teammates, but when they were on a mission, he was their unspoken guardian. No one had better dare hurt them or risk facing him. Despite his sometimes slightly assholish and straight-up annoying traits, there was something about Peter that had everyone loving him...even when they were tempted to lock him in a closet and lose the key.

The thoughts of his friends brought with them a special kind of pain all on their own. It felt like he'd been trapped in this room forever, and it was getting harder and harder to keep the fear and loneliness at bay. He sincerely hoped they were alright.

Releasing a deep sigh, Peter leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes, shutting out the blinding light.

Not only was he thirsty, the inside of his mouth felt like a desert, and to him, it seemed as if had been a coon's age since he had last tasted water; his head was killing him.

He knew that when it came to him, there was this issue with the potency of the common pain relievers such as Tylenol and Ibuprofen – they simply didn't work on him.

Hank had told him it's a side effect of his mutation. Apparently, his superspeed equalled an incredibly fast metabolism which caused his body to simply burn through every kind of medication, rendering them completely useless.

To Hank's great fascination, as well as even bigger frustration, stronger opioids such as morphine and fentanyl didn't have much effect on him either. Fentanyl helped the best, but only for a few minutes, an hour at the very most if he was fortunate until pain receptors started screaming at him once more.

Figuring out a proper dosage that would work with Peter's mutation was another tricky thing. His body could handle a larger dosage of fentanyl, but overdosing was still an enormous risk and one Hank wasn't ready to take sometimes.

It was a given that Hank probably appropriately dosed him with morphine or fentanyl but the issue was the medication was already _and very clearly_ wearing off and he wanted, no, needed, to get some relief from pain because the vicious pounding in his head made it hard to even think.

He'd honestly prefer being drugged as all hell than in pain he was in currently.

Now, Peter faced two problems. One, he was alone. No Hank or anyone in close proximity who could give him some morphine or something to knock him out. However, practically speaking, that shouldn't be an issue. He could simply stand up and take the medicine by himself. Which brings us to the problem number two; he didn't know where Hank kept pain relievers – and to make matters worse, he didn't know how to properly dose it and accidentally overdosing wasn't something he wanted to achieve.

Which meant now he was either forced to wait for Hank to come to check on him and in meantime suffer in silence till he shows up, or simply go look for him- that is, assuming he's able to walk.

Peter sighed. Both options sounded bad, no scratch that,_ terrible_ and he'd likely regret them in the end, but his legs ached and his head was pounding with such force it felt as though it would burst any moment, so in reality, it really wasn't a choice at all.

He glanced down at himself, taking in the numerous bandages decorating his body and limbs. He didn't have a cast on his legs which judging by the way he was feeling, was a fucking miracle. So, he probably could walk for a few minutes…

He knew it was a bad decision.

However, a bad decision or not, that had never stopped him before. And honestly, it was better to go search for him than to waste away in the bed, wallowing in pain and misery.

Moving very slowly and carefully he cautiously pushed himself into a more upright position. Even that small shift in position had his body screaming in protest but he persisted and did his best to ignore the pain.

He cringed, closing his eyes in the process, as his head throbbed in time to his racing heart. What he wouldn't do for it to stop hurting him.

Taking deep breaths, he took a minute for the clobbering in his head to drop to a more tolerable level before his newly opened eyes fell upon the IV that had at some point been placed in the crook of his arm. Without giving it a second thought he ripped it out, following the action by carelessly pulling the electrode patches off his chest.

The wild beeping that followed was enough to tenfold his headache and immediately regret his actions. He quickly removed the nasal cannula as well and grimaced as he moved his right arm. His lucky guess was that he was still recovering from a dislocated shoulder. It'd make a lot of sense.

He scrunched his eyes closed in a vain attempt to ease the intense throbbing that was currently encasing his skull. He felt lightheaded and woozy, the room spinning before his eyes.

Dragging his body away from the bed, he slowly and carefully placed his bare feet on the cold floor, relieved that his, although awfully aching legs, managed to hold him. His gaze that idly scanned the lab around him paused on the metallic door that led to the corridor.

He didn't know what time it was, hell, he didn't even know which day it was, but something told him that no matter the time of the day, Hank was either in his quarters, lab or in a class. He quickly considered his options and decided that his office was the closest to the med lab and if luck was on his side, he'd likely find him there.

He clenched his jaw tightly closed, and a low moan bubbled up from the back of his throat as he slowly took a cautious step forward. His legs ached as they had never before and using his powers to run was something on the very bottom of the things he wanted to do right now.

So he settled for slow, steady steps as to not aggravate his injuries further. Peter supposed that his hair finally matched with how he was feeling. Old, rusty, slow and most importantly, in grievous pain.

As he slowly made his way to the main corridor, fighting the constant dizziness and rhythmic pounding in his head, the first thing he had noticed was that the usually vivacious hallways seemed uncharacteristically quiet and devoid of students.

There were only two possibilities; either it was really late at night or the school was closed for reasons currently unknown. He preferred the former hypothesis, mostly because the school had never been closed before, at least not in the years since he had joined the team. If the school had been closed, if the student body had been sent home, then the situation had to be extremely dire for Charles to make such a decision.

Peter knew it would be probably better for him to veg out and rest, instead of forcing himself to limp around the mansion, but oh well. He wasn't the smartest tool in the shed.

It was quiet, too quiet, and Peter missed the sound of laughter and unruly students running through the halls. At least that would give him an indication that everything's alright and the blooming anxiety that had been forming in his chest since he had awoken, could finally subside to a level he could tolerate.

He limped through the suspiciously empty corridor of the usually crowded school to the small office belonging to Hank – and occasionally, if she so desired, Raven. As he reached his office he paused as he caught his dim reflection in the bank of windows that made up the top portion of the wall on his right.

Swells and bruises littered his usually pale and blemish-free skin, his top lip was busted, but already far in the process of healing, his usually styled hair was unkempt and the dark bags sat heavy under his eyes. That, combined with the hospital gown, he had swiftly grabbed and donned before he left the lab, made him look pathetic, but hey, at least it matched how he was feeling. Part of him mused that he finally had some color on him, other than silver and white, even though it was mostly just black and blue.

With a small sigh, he tore his gaze from his reflection and was just about to reach out and knock on the door when he heard the sound of something crashing on the other side followed by a loud and deafening silence. He froze, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. He was wobbly, dizzy and his mind was a scrambled mess right now, but something didn't feel right.

He had known something was off the moment he woke up, call it the sixth sense, a hunch, but his intuition was usually never wrong so his worries were justified.

He still had no clue what had happened, if everyone else was okay, how long was he unconscious, where was everyone, what was the crashing noise in Hank's office…He was absolutely cheesed off that he didn't know what's wrong, starting with the fact he had at least some amount of memory loss. There was a large enough lacuna in his memory that he blamed entirely on whatever had happened to him, and something told him, it was important.

Reaching for the doorknob, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps hastily approaching him from the other side of the door. Peter didn't have more than a second to move out of the way when the wooden door forcefully opened and out walked Hank, taking long strides as he made his way through the corridor, away from his office and Peter who was leaning against the wall for support.

The momentary relief of seeing at least one of his teammates healthy and alive was forgotten by his uncharacteristic demeanor. Peter wasn't a telepath, nor was he an empath, but Hank's attitude was off.

Hank was timid, careful, preferred not to make his presence known and most of all hated when attention shifted on him. He was a softie, the second biggest softie right next to Kurt – who, by Peter's standards, took the throne of Softies. The person who came out was not it, and that was a rather concerning concept. Either he woke up on the wrong side of his bed or something was really wrong.

He wasn't able to see much of his expression; he had gotten just a quick glimpse of it. He had a face like thunder, something that didn't even remotely match his usual pacifistic demeanor.

Straightening back up, Peter watched as Hank disappeared down the corridor, a lone thought replaying over and over again in his already messy head.

_What happened?_

If he hadn't already had suspicions that something wasn't right, then this encounter alone erased all his doubts. Hank's strange attitude basically simply confirmed something was wrong, _very_ wrong.

Or maybe it wasn't Hank at all. Perhaps it was simply just Raven, who, for some unknown reasons pretended to be her boyfriend. To be entirely honest, that idea wasn't so farfetched. It's Mystique after all, and Mystique operated in mysterious ways. But the question again was, why and for what reason.

Either way, it perked his curiosity enough to go after him. Or Raven. Whoever 'Hank' actually was; despite the pain he was in.

And he still wanted morphine.

Taking a deep breath, he winced as air filled his lungs and pushed himself forward. He only hoped he wouldn't come to regret this.

* * *

Hank stomped off to the X-hangar, his loud and heavy footsteps reverberating throughout the halls. His mind was a frenetic mess and it was unusual for him to express his inner turmoil like this, but at this point, he was struggling, fighting a losing war with himself. He didn't care how much noise he made and to be frank, he would probably regret throwing the framed picture of him with Raven during happier times to the ground a bit later, but in his defense, he had felt like a volcano, ready to erupt any moment.

The only difference was that instead of lava, it was anger that threatened to spew out of him. Pure, unadulterated rage mixed with an unlimited thirst for violence and a part of him was disturbed that it came to this.

He was furious, frustrated, upset, and most of all, grieving. Grieving for a dream he had that ended so suddenly, grieving for a future that was now no longer possible, grieving for his happiness, grieving for his mutant friends and family, knowing full well that their future would from now on be tainted and bleak once again. But most of all her he grieved for Raven, his fellow troubled mutant, a best friend, a partner in every single version of the word, _his family…_

The fresh unshed tears stung in his eyes as he tried to compose himself, staring at Blackbird in front of him.

Raven did not deserve such end. Raven deserved to live a life she had always wanted. Free. Free of unjust and obligations to the humankind, free of Charles' dictatorship in the past decade, free of forced duty to be the savior of the ungrateful humankind…

She deserved to be happy, content with herself and her life. She deserved so much better than to be buried 6 feet under in the backyard of the Institute she had never truly called home.

If only he had listened to her sooner, perhaps, just perhaps none of this would have happened. Perhaps they wouldn't have been sent to space, perhaps Jean would have never been possessed by some weird cosmic entity, perhaps she would have never lost control of her powers, perhaps he and Raven would be able to run off to live a secluded life of their own somewhere else, away from Charles and his influence on them…perhaps Raven would still be alive.

But he had turned a deaf ear to her sadly more than justified and correct observations and Raven paid the ultimate price for it.

He couldn't believe he hadn't seen what Raven saw sooner. He had been as blind as a bat and fuck, he should have listened to her, he should've listened to her, he should've listened to her…

He had been blind for too long, but not anymore. His eyes were finally wide open and he knew exactly what he had to do, what needed to be done if any of them still wanted to have a future.

Boarding the Blackbird, the creation he was proudest of, was the most difficult task. The last time he had been in this very jet, he held Raven's lifeless body in his arms for the entire duration of the flight, never once taking his eyes off her covered frame.

The spare blanket they had covered her with had been soaked with blood and the sight of it had repulsed him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

He didn't know what exactly had happened, Charles made sure of that and for that he'd resent him forever. If only Charles had surrendered his stone-hard belief in his right and let Hank shot Jean with a tranquilizer dart, then perhaps whatever occurred later, wouldn't have happened. It physically pained him that Raven's death was perfectly avoidable if only _someone_ had made the right call.

He held Charles accountable for everything wrong that had transpired in the past 24 hours. For too long, Charles' word had been the law around here, and all of them, except for Raven who was the only one who had seen through her brother's actions, had believed he could do no wrong.

How foolish of them.

Not only was Raven dead, but the mutants had also again come under fire and the X-Men specifically, was in deep water because of Jean's doings.

Something told him that it was safe to say that the golden age of X-Men was over. They had spent years building steady bridges between humans and mutants and all it took was one tiny mistake and the public viewed them as monsters once more, the nascent bridge of peace crumbling before their eyes.

Somehow, deep down, he had always known that this respect and acceptance of mutants had an extremely short shelf life, and unfortunately, he had been proven right.

Closing the raven-colored aircraft's boarding door, his focus shifted on the commanding panel before him. The take-off was probably going to be loud enough to alert someone, but he couldn't care less. The younger students and the X-Men should all be asleep anyway as it was way, _way_ past midnight, almost dawning already at this point, but he doubted any of them would have a good night's rest after the recent events earlier in the day.

As for Charles…last he saw of him he had drunk like a fish and had already downed his second bottle of whiskey of the day so it was more than likely he had drunk himself to sleep. A part of Hank was screaming at himself to stop this madness and help his friend, who, given his alcoholic history, was a danger to himself, but then another part of him was just too furious with Charles to care about him and his struggles at the moment.

He honestly didn't want to lock horns with Charles, but he was just too furious with him and his insouciance led Hank to hit the roof when the telepath refused to see the errors of his way, that ultimately led to Raven's death.

If he wanted to drink himself to sleep, well that was just fine with Hank. It's not like he would have done anything of more importance anyway.

But Hank would, and that's exactly what he was going to do.

It wasn't until after he had exchanged words with Charles in the kitchen which had simply exacerbated his mood and visited the grave that shouldn't have been there in the first place that he had made up his mind of what he was going to do.

He would set things right again. He, unlike someone else, didn't want to wait for the other shoe to drop. He knew what needed to be done, and he didn't care what it took. It was time to bring the curtain down.

What needed to be done would be done, regardless of who stood in his way. He would make sure of that. Come hell or high water, justice for Raven's unfair and untimely death would get served and if that's the last thing he'd ever do.

And he knew just the person who would be willing enough to help him.

The take-off went smoothly - as planned. Although the jet had been designed to be controlled by two people, Hank tweaked it a bit a while ago to make it possible to be easily manoeuvred by one person just fine. The initiative for this decision was in case something happened to one of the assigned pilots, an awful experience they had gone through a few years ago when a mission gone wrong injured Raven to the point she had been unable to help pilot the jet back home with Hank. With Scott's help, they had managed to fly home safely, but a decision to tweak the jet had still been made. Plus, Ororo and Scott had later expressed a desire to learn how to pilot Blackbird, whereas others weren't that much into it. Hank had supposed Kurt and Peter could easily pull off the piloting if necessary and Jean, with her telekinetic powers, well, there wasn't an issue at all.

Hank exhaled loudly as he stared forward, into the night sky. Flying during the night wasn't favorable, but sometimes there just wasn't any other way. Like now. The visibility wasn't the greatest, but the radar and sonar on the control panel showed him what his eyes couldn't see. However, the sun would be up in an hour or so, so this blind flight would be over soon enough.

With the thought of the sun, the grim thoughts returned. He couldn't believe in a few hours it would already be a day since Raven had died. A whole day without her keeping him company in the lab, without her snarky comments, light touches of the hands, kisses goodnight before they ventured off to sleep, without her complains about Charles, the human ethic, her worries about the kids,…a whole day without her. He knew that at some point he would have to come to terms with her passing, but that day wasn't today and it certainly wasn't tomorrow as well.

The heartache he felt was overwhelming and he wanted nothing more than to ululate with pain, let it all out, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good at all. So he settled for less and let pain soak out through salty tears.

He thought he didn't have any more tears to shed. He thought wrong.

Usually, he would try to put up a steel façade and hastily wipe away the fresh stream of tears, but this time he just let them flow down his cheeks. He had no strength to hold them back anymore. And he was alone, finally, he could enjoy his few hours in solitude and silence and after such a rough day, he welcomed them with open arms.

"So, uh, what happened?"

And just as the silence arrived, it also disappeared. A long string of expletives fulminated from Hank's mouth as the sudden unexpected shock caused his hands to jerk, making the jet do a sharp turn to the left. The unexpected visitor stumbled and lost his already unsteady balance for a bit before he caught himself by the handle attached to the jet's wall.

To be honest, perhaps he had been a bit too naïve to think there weren't any more surprises. He had expected to be caught by someone, the top favorite for that was the ever – to the point it was already rather annoying – watchful Summers. But he certainly hadn't expected the person to be _him._

"Wha- **Peter**!?" the grieving genius did a sharp double-take at the slouched figure standing at the side, holding onto the handle for dear life. To say he looked horrible was an understatement. He looked as white as a sheet, which made his countless bruises and dark eye bags stand out like a sore thumb. Even at such distance, Hank could easily see his forehead was beaded with sweat, something extremely unusual for the speedster, who was usually a stranger to perspiration.

"You're up!?"

Groaning, the silver-haired speedster slowly pushed himself up, wincing at every movement. "Define 'up'."

"The hell you're doing here!?" If this was any other time, Hank might've blushed at the high pitched screech that protruded from his throat, but at the moment his attention was completely settled on the person, who shouldn't have been walking around at all. At least, not yet.

Even though no one knew what exactly had happened to him, it was clear that Jean did some heavy damage to the cheeky speedster, if the extent of his injuries were something to go by.

"You know…" Peter grumbled wearily, "I'm starting to ask myself the same question."

"I literally checked up on you half an hour ago. You were still out with no signs of waking up anytime soon." Hank paused and zoomed in on Peter's countless and persistent bruises. For someone with accelerated healing and who had just woken up from grievous injuries and was walking around totally fine, they sure took their sweet time healing.

"I guess I've been up for 29 minutes then." The speedster shrugged and immediately winced as the simple act of shrugging aggravated his injured shoulder.

Hank's unyielding stare was almost painful and it was making him uncomfortable. For someone who usually craved the attention, he didn't appreciate being gawked at in his current state. Peter sighed, wincing as the air left his lungs.

"I don't understand, I gave you the strongest dose of sedative possible, you should have been out for at least another few hours." Hank stuttered, recalling the moment he had injected him with sedative "I can't believe your body burned through it already."

"I guess I'm an eternal flame then." Peter tried to crack a joke but cringed as another wave of pain shot through his head and chest. He really needed something to elevate the pain, but now he doubted Hank currently had anything at his disposal to use. "Wait, you sedated me?" Peter's brows furrowed in confusion "What for? Wasn't I 'out out' enough already?"

"You were, but you kept waking up and it slowed down your healing so I gave you something to knock you out for good." Hank sighed "but apparently it didn't work."

Usually, Peter would find issues with the fact that he had been sedated, no matter how good the scientist's intentions were, but he could let it pass this once. Just this once. "Funny, I don't remember waking up."

"You were delirious." Hank chided quickly, shock finally dissipating slowly.

Peter didn't say anything, his hurting head was too busy processing the newly acquired information.

"What are you doing here, Peter?" Hank sighed, exasperated, his eyes focused on the poor view in front of him. His plan didn't go the way he had planned it and now he had a stowaway who was and could become more of a liability than a help. "And, pray tell, gave you the bright idea to go walking around in the state you're in."

Peter cringed at Hank's accusatory tone.

"Would you believe me if I said I was looking for you actually?" he admitted sheepishly. Looking back on it, he should've known stalking Hank was a bad idea.

"Me?"

"Well, not you as in you. But in a way, yeah, you." Judging by Hank's expression that didn't make a whole lot of sense. "I wanted to get some more morphine, but I didn't know where you kept it."

"Morphine?" Hank raised an eyebrow, the doctor inside of him immediately alerted at the mention of a pain reliever.

"Mostly for my head." Peter forced his eyes closed as the world swirled around him.

"Do you feel dizzy?"

"Everything's spinning." The younger man replied curtly, disliking the weird heaviness in his mind. He didn't know what being drunk felt like, thanks to his fast metabolism, but he guessed the feeling was at least a bit similar to what he was feeling now.

"Trust me," Hank began "your head's the only thing spinning right now." He advised Peter to sit down but the speedster ignored him and made no move to do so.

"I think I can finally understand the meaning behind 'killer headache'" he complained, rubbing at the side of his aching head. Weirdly enough putting pressure on his head felt good.

Hank nodded, "Your head took the brunt. When we found you I was actually worried about possible lasting brain damage, should you ever wake up."

The weight of his words made the younger man freeze.

"Ever?" Peter raised an eyebrow "What do you mean by 'ever'?" he suspected he already knew what Hank meant by that, but he strongly disliked the implications behind his words.

"Look, I'm going to be honest with you, when we found you, I was certain you wouldn't make it." Hank admitted, recalling the scene of Scott finding Peter's broken body in the bushes "But you pulled through and I think it's all thanks to your mutation that you did so." He had a theory that Peter's accelerated healing saved or at least played a major part in saving his life. Though at this point he wasn't so sure anymore if it was just a theory. Peter had a truly remarkable ability, it wasn't just superspeed that fascinated Hank, but his secondary gifts as well, notably, healing factor.

Peter felt a shiver run down his spine at Hank's words. The fact that he had been so close to death was excessively unsettling and he literally felt sick to his stomach at the thought of dying so soon, leaving so much - friends, family, the goals he had yet to achieve and wishes he wanted to realize - behind.

The worst thing was, something told him that he was the one responsible for his own near-death experience. A mixture of bad luck and an even worse decision were likely candidates to blame. And his ego. That as well.

"How do you feel anyway?" Hank's steady voice brought him back from a quick adventure in his thoughts.

"Trust me, you don't want to open that can of worms." Peter sighed and took a slow step forward, uncomfortable from standing. "But for your information, I feel like shit."

Hank's expression told him that he didn't really expect any other answer.

"Why don't you sit down? You look ready to drop." The scientist suggested again and this time he had been heard.

Peter gladly obliged and uncharacteristically slowly made his way to the fr ont right seat, the very one used by Raven. Seeing someone else other than the blue mutant he had loved so dearly occupy the seat meant for her was a pure torment and he felt a new wave of unshed tears threaten to spill out.

Peter gently, trying his best not to aggravate his aching muscles and limbseven more, lowered himself into the seat, biting his lip as a reaction to the pain.

Moving was definitely not advisable right now and for once Peter preferred the regenerative stillness. A smarter part of him was screaming at him for making yet another bad decision to walk away from the comfort of the med room, but as per usual he turned a deaf ear to it.

He'd give anything for a nice and strong dosage of morphine or sedative to send him into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, but there was still something nagging at him, and his pain was the constant reminder of the most important issue;

"What happened?"

It was just a simple question consisting of two words, but the moment they had left his mouth, the tension in the jet skyrocketed.

A shadow crossed his face and Hank gripped the jet's yoke harder but refused to break the deafening silence.

"Hank?" Peter tried again, not missing the way his expression hardened "What happened?" He knew something was wrong, it was way too obvious and he needed to get to the bottom of what happened that left Hank and him in such states. Both of them were wrecks, but instead of a physical ailment, Hank was being tormented from inside, and sometimes that's worse than any other injury and trauma to the skin and bones.

"Jean."

Peter blinked in confusion, but he didn't know whether that was because of the cold reply or his friend's name.

"Jean?" he echoed to himself "What about her?"

Hank's eyes didn't as much as twitch as he ruminated on the past day's events.

"Jean happened."

_Oookay…?_

"Meaning?" Peter questioned Hank's lack of interest in their conversation.

"She lost control of her powers." Or so Charles wanted them to believe. No one, except for the telepath, knew what exactly had happened, and unfortunately, Hank couldn't rely on Charles' version of the truth this time.

"Huh." Peter processed the new information "So, is that how I got hurt?"

Now Hank managed to tear his eyes away from staring straight ahead to look at Peter, countless questions etched on his frowny face.

"What do you mean?" A genuine confusion was evident in Hank's tone "Don't you know that?"

A small, barely seen shrug of the shoulders was the only answer he received from the injured mutant.

"Peter, what's the last thing you remember?"

Peter faltered and leaned further in the chair, averting his eyes from meeting Hank's observant gaze.

"I dunno…my head's a mess right now." He furrowed his brows in concentration which was immediately recognized as a badly thought out decision when the tension in his head tenfolded, forcing him to bite back a moan. The situation would have been much better if only his head wasn't pounding so much.

Hank knitted his brows as he listened to Peter's barely repressed moans of pain. He wondered what exactly Jean had done to him. Everything had happened too fast for any of them to see the accident that nearly took the life of yet another member of the team. One second he had been with them, next he was gone. Hank had a theory that Peter had tried to subdue the uncontrollable mutant somehow and paid dearly for that poor decision. Whatever had Jean done to him, it was obvious Peter finally met his Waterloo.

"Try to think."

Peter scoffed at Hank's words. It's not like he hadn't been trying to clear up the fog in his head for the past half an hour to no avail. He obliged nevertheless though and fully concentrated on his memory, various images rushing through his head, with one standing out the most from the fog that engulfed his mind.

"I…uh…I remember space." He mumbled more to himself than to Hank.

The scientist nodded. It didn't sound promising, but it was a good start.

"We went to space yes, but that was two days ago. Can you remember anything after that?" Hank asked and noted Peter's expression of surprise upon hearing he's missing nearly two days' worth of memories. "Do you remember Dazzler?"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Dazzler? Who would I rememb-oh, the party!" he exclaimed, his brown eyes finally widening and filling with a familiar spark "We had a party in the forest didn't we?" a sudden flashback entered his mind consisting of sparkles, fire, singing and embarrassing dancing "Man, that was awesome."

Hank nodded to himself. Even though he hadn't joined them at the party and rather occupied himself by working on improving the machines in his lab – courtesy of Jean's power surge. It had been the last moment of bliss before everything went to hell.

And it had been the last moment of bliss he had with Raven…and the one that settled her fate.

"Can you remember anything else?" he whispered, not trusting his voice to stay steady and strong.

Peter furrowed his brow in deep thought. He remembered the party but after that things became even blurrier than before.

"I think...I think I vaguely remember making a phone call at some point."

A quick glance at Peter's face showed Hank the speedster wasn't confident in the correctness of his memory. The fact that he, along with everyone else, had been knocked out as a result of Jean's first outburst probably had something to do with it, but he wouldn't tell him that yet. It was clear to Hank that this conversation was already wiping Peter out.

"Do you remember Red Cross?" It was a reach and he knew it, but he had to bring it up at some point.

Peter blinked once, twice, the wrinkles of confusion deepening.

"Red what?"

"The neighbourhood? When we found Jean?" Hank inquired.

Peter's eyes bugged out.

"Dude, first off, I can't believe I'm saying this but slow the fuck down." Peter cut in vivaciously "She was missing?"

God, how much Hank wished they hadn't decided to sought her out and she remained missing

"At some point, yes." Hank nodded, bitterly "So, do you?"

Peter concentrated on his thoughts again, fervently fighting off the assault of the fog that resided in his head…but nothing came out of it.

"No, sorry, nothing." He deflated, his eyes losing the lively spark once more.

"That's okay, don't worry about it." Frankly, Hank would have been far more content without knowing what had happened there as well. He couldn't believe a tiny part of him was almost envious of Peter's trauma-induced amnesia. He'd do anything to forget the moment his eyes had fallen upon Raven's dying form in the distance, pieces of wood brutally protruding from her abdomen making her choke on her own blood. It was a memory he knew would traumatize him for years to come.

"Why can't I remember what happened?" Peter's small voice kicked him out of a painful memory.

"Severe head trauma sometimes causes memory loss." Hank lectured, offering the distressed mutant the tiniest hint of a smile he could muster at the moment. "Most of the time the patients suffering from memory loss won't remember the circumstances surrounding the time of the accident."

"Will I ever get my memories back?" A horrendous memory or not, Peter would like to have it back.

Hank shrugged tentatively as he wasn't sure how to respond to the question. Usually, he'd imagine the memory was lost forever, but with Peter's special abilities the possibility of regaining what was lost was still present.

"Depends. Some people regain them, some never do."

"That sucks." Peter sighed.

"However, I will need to perform a thorough medical examination once we return." He noticed Peter's uncomfortable expression. "Rest assured, I don't think you'll drop dead anytime soon, but I'd still prefer to give your head a check. Better safe than sorry."

"Just my head?" the younger mutant asked tentatively, feeling exhaustion crawling up his entire being.

"It's the thing I'm most worried about." Hank admitted "You also suffered three broken ribs, broken arm, dislocated shoulder, and a leg sprain but those should all heal in a few days. If you rest, that is." Hank added, giving Peter a sharp glare. The speedster wasn't known for being still after all. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't sustain worse injuries because the state you were in when we found you…-" Hank trailed off, adding the moment they had found Peter to the pile of memories he was unwilling to remember ever again.

Peter supposed he could live with that. As long as his head stopped hurting things would get better anyway. Yeah, broken ribs hurt like a bitch, but knowing how his body worked they were surely going to be completely healed in a day or two. Three at the most, if he wasn't going to listen to Hank and refuse rest. However, given that he was ready to zonk out any moment right now, resting wasn't going to be an issue at all.

But there was still something Hank wasn't telling him and it was clear as a day that he swept something under the carpet.

And Peter, despite his injuries, was nothing if not curious.

"Okay, what else?"

Hank squinted his eyes.

"What?"

"I know for a fact there's something you're not telling me." Peter began and Hank opened his mouth in a failed protest "Don't try to deny it, I'm concussed, not stupid."

Hank ignored him.

"Look, you basically said that I'm the only one who got hurt, and honestly dude, I know we're friends but there's literally no way in any shape or form you'd cry for me or go rogue when I'm merely just unconscious." He paused and carefully studied Hank's face to catch any fleeting emotion crossing it "I know there's something else as well, so spill it."

The bespectacled scientist remained silent. He wanted nothing else than to drop the painful subject altogether but felt that he owed the injured mutant an explanation. And sooner or later, Peter would find out the true extent of damage Jean had caused to all of them.

"Well?" Peter an eyebrow, anticipating the answer. Not that he was impatient – he was, but okay -, the world rotated slowly for him enough as it was, he didn't need Hank dragging and keeping things from his any longer.

He was expecting Hank to tell him Jean trashed one of his inventions, because he knew how weirdly attached Hank could get to a piece of metal machinery, he expected that perhaps he and Raven had a fight of sorts courtesy of Jean, he was expecting Hank to tell him Jean pissed someone off enough to an extent that Hank had to step in, he was expecting -

"Raven is dead."

He wasn't expecting that.

Hank sighed at the deafening silence that followed the three little words that held so much weight. He didn't even have to glance at Peter to know his reaction. He went through the exact same shock, even amplified considering he had also seen her die, hours ago.

The painful bombshell was enough to quiet the incessant yammering and rendered the speedster speechless in an unadulterated shock.

"What?!"

Hank said nothing, only blinked his eyes closed when he uttered those words out. There wasn't anything left to say. He felt numb, grief washing over him in waves, ready to drown him any second. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Peter watching him with shock sprawled all over his face before steering his gaze away and going with his good hand through his messy locks. "Shit."

Hank remained silent, letting Peter process things on his own and in his own time, no matter how slow – or fast, depending on the perspective - it was for him.

"Did…did Jean…?" Peter trailed off but the implication of what he tried to say was not lost to Hank.

"Yes." He replied curtly, already tasting the bitterness of the words that would follow on his tongue "Jean killed her." Because she did. No matter what Charles or Scott tried to say, an accident or an intentional act of violence, Jean had killed Raven and that's the verdict.

If Charles had been here he would probably reprimand Peter for the rather colorful string of curses that followed, accusing him of setting a bad example for younger kids who looked up to him and sometimes Hank might've even joined in on giving Peter a lecture on proper language, but not today.

"How?" Peter whispered timidly. He almost didn't want to prod him further, seeing as the scientist was already hurting terribly.

Hank swallowed thickly, the maelstrom of emotions clogging his throat "She got impaled."

If there was any consolation to that, Hank found it in the fact that she at least didn't suffer for too long. She had been dead in a blink of an eye the moment blood filled her lungs.

"I-I'm sure it was an accident...Jean would never…she'd never hurt anyone, especially not her friends." Peter stammered, still in too great of a shock over his good friend's brutal passing. "Her family." Raven was like a mother to her. She cared for Jean as if she were her own blood family and the feeling was mutual.

She had come a long way from a rogue mutant with an assassination on her mind and murder in her eyes.

She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't be.

"That's not Jean anymore." Hank retorted back, momentary fire flickering in his eyes at the thought of what Jean had become. "Not since the mission."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward hiding hid face in his hands. "Fuck."

Hank cast a quick glance at Peter who looked like he was lost in a fog and the scientist mentally wondered if that was because of his injuries or the horrid news of Raven's passing. He supposed the freshly learnt news had to be a real bolt out of the blue for him, and he couldn't blame him – everyone was still in massive shock.

And the boy, no, the man looked terrible, broken, dazed and in that moment so unbelievably juvenile that it tore at Hank's heartstrings.

Hank had known the silver mutant since he was a teenager. And although he was getting on in years, and had just turned 35 in January that very year, he still looked extremely young. If he didn't know better he'd say he was just out of his adolescence. He had a theory that due to his accelerated healing that matched the speed he ran at, his cells regenerated at such speed that it prevented them from aging and breaking apart, thus prolonging his lifespan. He was certain of the fact that the speedster's healing factor made him age at a much slower pace, which was kind of ironical.

"It's Charles' fault." Hank broke the heavy silence again. Peter didn't even look up, all energy had left his body. "If he hadn't forced us to go to space, if he had let Raven turn around when there was still time, then none of that would have happened. If he hadn't frozen everyone…" Hank trailed off and Peter didn't know what he meant by the latter, but he supposed it played a huge part in the way things progressed later. "…Raven would still be alive."

Peter stared as blankly as it was humanly possible as Hank ranted his heart out. His eyes were glistering as tears started welling up again but he didn't care if anyone saw them. "Raven knew what was happening. She knew and she kept telling me Charles was making egoistical and horrendous decisions regarding the safety of the X-Men," he continued, reminiscing their last conversation just between the two of them "A-And I didn't listen." A lone tear dripped down from his eye. "She wanted to leave. She wanted us to leave, together."

He tried his best to keep his composure, to not fall apart in front of Peter's eyes, but it was a difficult task and one he knew he was failing miserably at.

"Why didn't I listen to her?" the broken whisper that left his lips was so quiet, so tangible, Hank doubted Peter had even heard him.

It was a question that he knew would torment him for the rest of his life.

He was thankful that the speedster remained quiet; whether that was because he was still in shock and didn't know what to say, or because deep down he's more empathic than he let on. No words would help him at all right now and any attempts at consolation would achieve only the exact opposite result.

"And Charles still refuses to see the truth. Even now." Hank continued after a moment of composing himself "Raven's dead, your life was on the line for a while, the government has turned their backs on us again and Jean is god knows where." The thought of Jean being wild and rogue somewhere with unlimited powers sent shivers down his spine.

As much as he didn't want to ever see her again, he also didn't want her to run around freely and unpunished. Part of him wanted to find her because she was considered a major threat to everyone and anyone around her, but the bigger part and the one that prevailed and clouded his judgment wanted her found to force her to face the repercussions of her actions.

Hank turned to glance at Peter, a hardness on his face that wasn't there before, "That's, that's why I have to do this. It's the only right thing to do. For Raven." Raven might have left the vale of tears yesterday, but they still had a war to fight. For her. For them all.

Peter perked up, however, his ashen face was still completely void of any emotion.

"Do what?"

It was a simple question but Hank knew explaining it to him wouldn't be as simple. Instead of answering the silver-haired mutant he fixed his eyes on a non-existent object in the distance ahead of them. The first rays of the morning dawn had already started showing itself and with them brought the promise of a new day; a day, during which he would hopefully find the culprit for his suffering and help everyone with getting rid of the threat.

He only hoped that by the time they find her, she wouldn't cause any more mass destructions somewhere else in the world and alienate the mutankind even further.

But for now, he knew better than to assume she would lay low.

"Hank, where are we going?"

He could easily detect the slightest hint of anxiety in Peter's tone and he felt bad for further aggravating the already overwhelmed mutant.

"Dude?" Peter tried again.

"You don't want to know." He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but it was the truth. Had Peter known where Hank was headed before he had boarded the plane, he strongly doubted he would have joined him on this journey.

Because Peter came across as almost fearless, he had tried everything, done everything, been everywhere…there literally wasn't a place or land he hadn't stepped on yet. However, there was one place he avoided like a plague to the point he didn't even want to talk about it.

"Why not?"

Peter's alert gaze was fixed on Hank as he waited for his response. Hank sighed, enjoying the last moments of peace before it would get replaced with Peter's loud protests and arguments as to why his decision was a piss poor idea.

And Hank couldn't even argue with Peter. He fully knew it wasn't the best idea, it was probably one of the worst ideas his mind could've ever manifested, but it was the only decent option.

_He_ was the only option he had and the bespectacled mutant concluded it was worth the risk.

"We're going to Genosha."


End file.
